Traipsed down to Portland last weekend; Grandpa is 83. Dinner came to a sudden end, all of us stampeding for the door when my cousin’s husband received a phone call.

The information was inaccurate at best; the mountain wasn’t erupting. Ian and I had stopped to see Mount St. Helens on our way south. The mountain seemed smug. . . All these people lining the highway, waiting for it to perform, and it refusing to step on stage. Not even a whisper of steam. The clear spots along the road were populated by lawn chairs, tripods, cameras, telescopes. Small children tearing around, then running to a parent: “Daddy, Daddy, when is the mountain going to blow up?” I’d expect this sort of behavior for an eclipse, not for mountain with indigestion and a poor sense of timing.

St. Helens refused to do anything more than quake while we were nearby. Monday, it vented steam and minor gases. It would wait until we were 150 miles away. The Hawaiian volcanoes weren’t showing off when we were local to them, either. I seem to be fated to watch these events at the USGS website.

Not that I wish for destruction, just that an eruption would be cool. Interesting. It’s always a good thing to remind the humans that all is not under control, it can never be under control. We are small lives in a system that doesn’t need us as much as we need it.